In the grave lay a blonde woman in a white dress, her arms folded across her chest, not much older than Bel was now.
‘She looks peaceful,’ observed Bel quietly.
‘Who was she?’ said Jaya.
Bel pointed at the quartz headstone, carved with shining heart flowers and the name ‘Elessa Lanclara’.
‘If not for her …’ he began, but trailed off. If not for her then what? I would be whole? And living where? His thinking turned to white noise, and he shook his head to clear it. ‘She was the one who came to Whisperwood to fetch me. I told you about her – she fought the undead abomination Fazel and rescued me, I suppose you could say.’
‘Ah,’ said Jaya, and looked again upon Elessa. ‘Guess I owe her thanks, then.’
‘As do we all,’ said Fahren. ‘I think,’ he added, shooting Bel a reproachful stare. ‘Come, it is time to bury Naphur.’
They made their way to the other mourners, where Bel went on bended knee before the Lady Raina.
‘My condolences, my lady,’ he said. He had never spoken to Raina before, for she was a withdrawn woman, sometimes sickly and not always on the best terms with Naphur, from whom she’d kept her quarters separate. ‘And my apologies. I came to honour your husband, not to start a commotion.’
‘Rise, Blade Bel,’ she replied, and seemed to search for something more to say. In the end she simply turned away. Do you blame me for the death of your son? wondered Bel. Or your husband?
The ceremony began. The Halls’ new High Overseer, and thus the replacement for Baygis, was a woman of about fifty called Varta. She spoke as Naphur’s casket was carried through the crowd, offering prayers for his soul’s safe passage to the Well. Inside the glass Naphur lay on his red cape, his face dark and angry. Did he seem that way to others, or was that just how Bel remembered him?
The pallbearers lowered the Throne into the grave at the base of the monolith and stepped away.
‘And now,’ said Varta, ‘the High Mage Fahren has a few words.’
Fahren moved to the front of the assembly beside the grave. For a moment he didn’t seem to know where to begin, just stood stroking his long golden beard and staring into the grave …then he cleared his throat and spoke.
‘Today, we bury Terenus Naphur, who well earned the love and respect of his people. For them his death is a great tragedy, yet perhaps it is even greater for those of us who knew him not just as a ruler, but as a man. Many amongst you will recall his strength, his boisterous good humour, and the sense of fairness that informed both his Throneship and his personal dealings …’
Bel wasn’t sure he agreed, but tried to remember that there had been many good years before the chaotic end. He tried to recall the man who had been his friend since boyhood. And, as Fahren spoke, he learned much he hadn’t known about the Throne. He was especially interested in how, as a young soldier, Naphur had gone incognito to fight in the Dimglades campaign and been promoted to Cerepan on his own merit. Hearing about Naphur’s life made Bel feel very young all of a sudden; his anger towards the man seemed petty and spiteful – yet it persisted, tainting everything good that had come before it.
‘…He did not deserve the end that found him,’ Fahren said, finishing, ‘nor the sadness that preceded it …but I pray he will find peace in the Great Well of Arkus.’
Twin tears fell from his crystal blue eyes, straight to the ground, leaving no trace on his cheeks.
‘Farewell, my friend.’
Fahren returned to the crowd, to stand by Bel.
After him, two others spoke. First was Gerent Brahl, who commanded the forces of Borgordus. Brahl, a tall man of some sixty years with short grey hair, told a story about how he and Naphur had travelled to the Furoara Sands as younger men, where they had raced dune claws against the Saurians. After Brahl came a man Bel did not recognise – thin and with a face that was not moving well from youth to middle age. His resplendent robes marked him as a noble who would have all know it, not exactly appropriate for the sombre mood of the occasion. He moved before the assembly dabbing a silk handkerchief at his eye, as if there had been tears there.
‘It is never easy to say goodbye to a loved one,’ he began in an overly affected tone. ‘Or a family member.’
‘Apparently there’s a difference,’ muttered Fahren.
‘It is even more grievous a blow to lose a leader,’ the man continued, ‘especially at such a time of need. It has become well known that a blue-haired man has sided with our enemies – in fact it was by his hand that this …’ he waved at the grave, ‘…sacrilege was committed. My lords and ladies, the evil of Fenvarrow must not go unpunished. But perhaps we have reason to hope,’ his gaze slid to Bel, ‘that our fortunes are improving. That one now walks amongst us who can match the shadow-man. No doubt we will learn more in the coming days.’
Faces turned to Bel once more, but his expression remained stony – as if by ignoring the attention he could direct it back where it was supposed to be. More and more he was realising this had not been a wise time to unveil himself. If only he had waited but a day – so thoughtless and brash his actions had been!
‘War is coming,’ said the man, ‘and our people will need strong leadership. As my beloved cousin Naphur goes into the ground, let us pray he leaves behind fertile earth in which a new Throne may blossom.’
‘Weeds also grow in the earth,’ said Fahren quietly.
‘Who is this man?’ whispered Bel.
‘Thedd Naphur,’ said Fahren. ‘The Trusted of Tria, Naphur’s cousin. Next in line for the Throne, unfortunately.’
‘What about Lady Raina?’
‘She has long made it plain she has no interest in ruling. Besides, her health fails her. She is not what is needed.’
After a few more pompous platitudes on ‘looking ahead’ and ‘strength in unity’, Thedd rejoined his lavishly frilled cohorts.
With the formal proceedings over, the assembly lost shape. Groups peeled off, and folk went to the grave to pay their final respects. Not wishing to cause more fuss, Bel hung back – then realised he’d made himself even more visible because people were waiting for him to approach Naphur’s grave. Sighing, he followed Fahren, stood by as the old mage said his goodbyes, then took his place above Naphur and bowed his head.
Farewell, Throne , he thought lamely. The truth, Bel found, was that he felt little of anything for the man any more. He tried to remember the encouragement Naphur had always given him – all to serve a greater purpose , he supposed. Why such lack of empathy, such easy dismissal of a man I’ve known many years? he wondered. Was it as the weaver Iassia had said, when he had invaded Bel’s mind – that Bel was not whole, that there were parts of him missing? No, no, tricks only. I have spoken to Arkus himself, and he says I am the dominant personality. Losara is the small one, nothing but the tiniest speck, hardly worth having back except as a means to eliminate him forever.
‘They tell me folk often wondered why my cousin showed such avid interest in you, a simple soldier.’ Bel glanced at the man by his side, and was unable to keep irritation from his expression.
‘I guess now we know,’ Thedd continued, nodding at Bel’s hair and chuckling. ‘A recent improvement, I’m told? I hope that when I am Throne we will grow to enjoy each other’s confidence, just as you and Naphur did.’
‘Sounds easy enough,’ said Bel. ‘But the last words Naphur and I shared were far from kind.’
Thedd’s smile became a little forced. ‘You are right to be upset,’ he said. ‘I am tactless, forgive me – this is not the right occasion. We shall speak later.’